by Jade Kerrion
“Yes.” A soldier nodded, his attention focused on the screen. Admiration and respect infused his voice. “It’s a live media feed from the supermax mutant sector at the Pelican Bay State Prison. They’re doing it again. They’re freeing mutants.”
For a brief moment, two figures appeared on the screen, scuffling. One wore the uniform of a prison guard, the other a pair of black pants and a shirt emblazoned with a blood-red imprint of the all-seeing eye, Sakti’s emblem. Faces were scarcely visible, but the desperate ferocity of their struggle spoke for itself. Several bricks swept into view, under the apparent control of a telekinetic, and smashed into the prison guard. Danyael winced when he heard bones snap under the impact. The quiet cheer that rose around the room was abruptly hushed when the general looked around.
The general looked back at the screen. Suddenly his emotions flared. Shock, dismay, and anger raced in quick succession across his emotional spectrum, but his face betrayed nothing. Danyael turned to the screen. What had triggered the general’s extreme reaction? The scuffle over, the triumphant Sakti terrorist had moved on, quickly disappearing out of the limited camera range.
As far as Danyael could tell, there had been nothing extraordinary or even interesting in the camera footage. He had expected the outcome. Mutants proliferated Sakti’s ranks; a human prison guard would not have been able to win that fight under any circumstances, so why had the general reacted the way he did, and why were Reyes’s emotions pulsing with nervous guilt?
~*~
Later that evening, in the privacy of his suite, Danyael picked up the computer tablet the Mutant Assault Group had given him. The tablet allowed him to watch network and cable media channels, access the Internet, and—security clearance permitting—search the Mutant Assault Group mainframe.
He did not have the required security clearance, but he had no intention of accessing the mainframe. Instead he searched the Internet for the media clip of the live footage of Sakti’s attack on Pelican Bay State Prison.
Something captured in the live footage had upset the general. Danyael had to find it. He found the media clip easily and played it, but several passes through the media clip yielded nothing. Frustrated, Danyael tried again, viewing the media clip frame by frame. Two men fought. In the tussle, the prison guard ripped the terrorist’s facemask, before the terrorist, presumably a telekinetic, disabled the prison guard with a hail of bricks and then walked away.
No, wait.
Danyael leaned forward. For a split second, the smoke wafted away to present an unobstructed view of the man’s face. Danyael frowned. He recognized that face. It was not a face he knew well and could not put a name to it, but he had seen it once before. Where?
He closed his eyes and drove his emotions down. In the silence of his mind, memories surfaced. Images and sounds emerged with crystal clarity. The four walls of his suite faded into the moonlit woods in Lucien’s Aspen estate. He could feel the icy fingers of the night air against his face and the wet chill of the snow seeping through his sneakers. In his memories, Reyes stood beside him, but the old man’s face was obscured in shadows as men emerged out of the darkness of the woods.
The spotlight in his memories focused on the face of a young man in military fatigues. “I’m glad we got to you in time,” the man had said to Danyael. The soldier raised his voice slightly as he issued orders to his team. “Fan out. There are at least three teams of enforcers in the area. I want you to misdirect them and keep them disoriented until we can get Danyael to safety.”
Danyael blinked hard. The images of the forest rushed away, and he was once again in his suite, physically safe and warm, but mentally in turmoil. He sank into the couch and closed his eyes but could not dismiss the memory of the man’s face.
The young man, the leader of the Mutant Assault Group team who had saved him from the enforcers, was the same man who had worn Sakti’s emblem to storm the mutant sector at the Pelican Bay State Prison.
~*~
Miriya raced barefoot down the corridors of the Mutant Affairs Council headquarters and flung open the door of Xin’s suite.
The clone looked up from her ever-present computers and arched an eyebrow. “Is something the matter?”
“Danyael—” Miriya gasped, a hand pressed against her chest. “Damn, I am out of shape. Danyael’s blocking me. Deliberately.”
“What?”
“Something’s upset him, and he’s trying to keep it from me.”
“Really?” Xin uncoiled from her chair. “Come in and close the door, Miriya. I think you need something to steady your nerves. I’ll get—”
Miriya slammed the door shut. “I am not nervous, damn it. Will you just listen to me? Something’s very wrong. There’s this face he keeps seeing—”
Xin pulled something out of the mini-fridge and turned to face Miriya. “Mint chocolate chip or cookies and cream?”
In spite of herself, Miriya laughed. “Other people offer alcohol. You offer ice cream?”
“I’m not much of a drinker. Ancient Chinese women aren’t necessarily any better than modern Chinese women at processing alcohol. Which one do you want?”
“Mint chocolate chip.”
Miriya managed to snag the flying spoon, but the pint-sized carton of ice cream hit the carpet. “Damn it.”
“There’s a reason I didn’t take the cover off. Your reflexes aren’t that hot.” Xin rejoined Miriya in the living room. She sat across from the telepath and dug into her own carton of ice cream. “So, you were saying something about a face. Can you sketch it out?”
Miriya rolled her eyes. “I can’t draw a stick figure, but I can do this.” She tossed the image directly into Xin’s mind.
Xin shrugged. “I’ve never seen him before. Danyael’s hard to upset…and coincidentally or perhaps not, Sakti attacked Pelican Bay State Prison today.” She set aside her carton of ice cream and reached for her tablet. “I’ll bet Danyael saw this person on the live footage taken at Pelican Bay.” Talking as she worked, she tapped a few keys to project the screen of her tablet onto the large screen in the living room. “Here is the media clip from Pelican Bay. This facial recognition program will identify all frames where faces are visible and then match those faces against federal databases.”
Miriya leaned forward, watching in silence as the screen sectioned to accommodate several small images of visible faces in the media clip. The images were grainy. Faces were contorted with fear and panic and frequently obscured by smoke from the burning prison. “Those pictures are crap,” Miriya complained. “You’re not going to get anything out of them.”
Xin held up her hand. “Ah, but wait for the magic.” She tapped something on her screen, and small boxes appeared next to each face.
Miriya frowned. The small boxes blurred into motion as segmented portions of faces scrolled through in quick succession.
Xin was in her element. “The program is creating a composite face based on the available information in the picture and then making a guess on other elements that may be less clear. It’ll then compare the composite face to images in the federal database. And here, we have the first IDs coming in.” Her fingers flew over the screen of her tablet. “Now, if we discard the ones identified as prison guards in the Californian penitentiary system, we have three to nail down.” She read the records associated with each facial match. “Harold Mudd is a serial criminal, an alpha telepath freed in one of Sakti’s early prison breaks. Kevin Schultz is a petty thief, a telekinetic, not an alpha. He missed a scheduled meeting with his parole office six months ago in Wisconsin. And finally we have Peter Dieter...does he look familiar, Miriya?”
Miriya nodded wordlessly. It was the face in Danyael’s mind.
“He’s an alpha telekinetic and telepath, a lieutenant in the Mutant Assault Group. He was reportedly killed in a training accident shortly after the assault group picked Danyael up at Lucien’s estate. At that time, he was on a temporary assignment with the Navy, and his record of death is officiall
y listed with the Navy, and not the Mutant Assault Group. Isn’t that interesting?”
The chill Miriya felt had nothing to do with the air conditioning system.
Xin kept working. Her serious face was intent, the gleam in her eyes feverish. Electronic reports flashed across the tablet screen, scrolling too quickly for Miriya to glean any information from them. Xin’s technological magic apparently worked behind the scenes, highlighting key words and phrases and merging seemingly unrelated information into a single cohesive report. Reluctant admiration infused Xin’s voice. “Sneaky bastards. The assault group created hundreds of false transfer and death records. You could run a standard search of its records database and find nothing out of the ordinary because it has attributed most of its ‘deceased’ personnel to another military division. Meanwhile, those names are unnoticed, buried in the much longer death records from the larger divisions. Well done, Miriya. I’d never have found the link if not for you and Danyael. And here are the real records of Mutant Assault Group personnel reportedly killed in the line of duty over the past five years.”
Lines of names streamed across the screen.
“So many…” Miriya breathed.
Xin nodded. “Almost all in the past year. All alpha mutants. All killed in training accidents. In that same year, Sakti suddenly becomes the most dangerous militant mutant terrorist group in the world. Coincidence, my ass.”
Miriya twitched. Xin was rarely crude.
The clone reached for her cell phone. “I’m calling Alex.”
~*~
Alex Saunders’s disbelieving gaze shuttled between Xin and Miriya. He had stepped out of a concert and rushed back to the council headquarters upon receiving Xin’s call. In his tuxedo, he paced the length of his office, listening in silence as Xin delivered her report in cool, crisp tones. The clone was sprawled in a leather chair in front of Alex’s mahogany desk. Miriya sat across from Xin, her small frame taut with tension.
“Wait, let me get this straight.” Alex checked off the points on his fingertips as he summarized everything he thought he had heard from Xin. “You are telling me that General Howard didn’t just get lucky when he found Danyael at Aspen. You’re saying that he’s been supplying Sakti with his trained soldiers, and that the Mutant Assault Group is responsible for Sakti’s rise to power.”
Xin nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Howard couldn’t break into ADX to retrieve Danyael, so he equipped and trained Sakti to do it for him.”
“You realize that you’re accusing a three-star general in the United States military of conspiring…no, not just conspiring…of leading, by proxy, a mutant terrorist group that has been attacking federal and state prisons and freeing criminals.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. You can label his super soldier program ‘misguided but well-intentioned.’ Howard’s association with Sakti, however, is treason.”
“Could there be any other explanation? Maybe Peter Dieter went rogue. It doesn’t make Howard complicit in Peter’s treachery.”
“What about this long list of ‘deceased’ assault-group agents?”
Alex shook his head. “We know that Howard is experimenting with super soldiers. Danyael was dragged into this mess after a training accident. These people on the list could be legitimately dead, killed in the line of duty. I’ll need more evidence, far more evidence, than just one man.”
Miriya looked at Xin. “Can we find the evidence? Should I ask Danyael to look around for it?”
Xin leaned back in her seat, contemplating Miriya’s question. “Danyael’s at risk, as it is. No, we need to keep Danyael out of Howard’s line of fire. Tell him nothing. Besides, to find the kind of evidence we want, we need to get someone into Sakti to look around.”
“Who?”
A faint smile spread across Xin’s face. “There’s something I’d been meaning to tell Galahad for a long time, but it kept slipping my mind. I think the time is finally right.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zara’s townhouse in Georgetown had a charming red brick façade and a vine-covered trellis. Xin wondered how many college professors, lawyers, doctors, and businessmen knew that they shared their sedate, upper-middle class neighborhood with an assassin, the owner of a large and successful agency of mercenaries.
Zara opened the door as Xin walked up the driveway. “You’re up early,” Zara said.
“I have a busy day ahead of me today.” Xin stepped past Zara and entered the townhouse. Smiling, she slipped her backpack off her shoulders and set it on the floor next to an oversized blue rabbit and a giant pile of colorful blocks. She had not been to Zara’s house for more than a year and was surprised to see it transformed from a designer furniture showroom into a child’s playroom.
The furniture was still in place, suede and leather showpieces from top European designers, their lines sleek and elegant, but Laura’s alphabet and number books were scattered over the cedar coffee table next to gun catalogs. “Brainwashing her already?” Xin asked.
“I need to leave my business to someone, after all.” Zara walked into the kitchen. Xin followed. “Laura’s still asleep. Can I get you something to eat?” Zara asked.
“I have a breakfast appointment in an hour.” Xin accepted a mug of freshly brewed coffee from Zara. She leaned against a granite-covered countertop and sipped her coffee. “Have you spoken to Galahad recently?”
“Not since Danyael was taken into the assault group compound. Why?”
“I’m sending him out on an errand, and I need you to go with him.”
“Why?”
“I need eyes on the ground. Your eyes.”
Zara grinned. “I’d be happy to oblige, but why not just send me?”
“Galahad will be meeting one of his templates.”
Zara shrugged and sipped from her own coffee mug. “I’m not interested in attending his family reunions.”
“If you still care about Danyael, you should, because Galahad’s templates tend to die at family reunions.”
Zara’s violet eyes widened. “What?”
“Eight of Galahad’s templates have died in the past year, allegedly of natural causes, but their deaths have coincided with Galahad’s travels to their part of the world.”
“Galahad’s not a killer.”
“Did you or did you not train him?”
“He didn’t need training. He has the physical aptitude to be the perfect killer, but that doesn’t make him one.”
“Are you going to look at the facts or trust your gut feeling?” Xin pulled a tablet from inside her jacket, turned it on, and handed it to Zara.
Zara scanned the list. “Why are the names of the ones who are still alive blacked out?”
“You don’t need to see them. Too much information can be a bad thing, and you don’t have the psychic defenses to protect what you know.”
“Where is Danyael on this list?”
Xin tilted her head. “What if I told you he was next?”
Zara frowned. “But Danyael’s safe with the assault group.”
“Is he? Galahad’s path will take him into the assault group. Who’s going to protect Danyael from Galahad then?”
Xin watched a subtle play of emotions cross Zara’s face. The clone suppressed an amused smile. Zara loved Danyael, in spite of their mutual efforts to wreck their relationship. An assassin and a healer, who knew? Cupid wasn’t just unpredictable; he had a sick sense of humor.
Love, and the hope of seeing Danyael again, compelled Zara to play right into Xin’s hands. The assassin nodded. “All right. I’m in.”
Xin smiled. “I’ll have Galahad call you. Let’s agree on the story.”
“You’re going to lie to him?”
The clone chuckled, the sound low and amused. “No, of course not. Lies aren’t necessary when the truth is so much more effective.”
~*~
Xin glanced at her smartphone as she took the private elevator up to Galahad’s penthouse in Turnberry Tow
ers. Her digital clock showed eight a.m. when she pressed the doorbell. It chimed a tuneful song, and the door opened promptly. Galahad smiled at her, though his smile did not light his eyes.
She smiled up at him. “Hi, Galahad.”
“It’s good to see you,” he said. “Come on in.” He closed the door behind her and led the way toward the kitchen. “Can I interest you in hot chocolate and croissants for breakfast?”
“I’d love that.”
Xin followed him to the kitchen, took a seat at the cocktail table, and looked around. The kitchen in Galahad’s Arlington condominium was cozy but well equipped. Butcher-block countertops and mahogany cabinets lent the kitchen a warm, homelike glow that balanced the sleek efficiency of barely used stainless steel appliances. “I like what you’ve done with this place.”
“You do?” Galahad glanced around his kitchen as if trying to see what Xin saw. “I’m rarely in D.C., and I didn’t want to over-invest in this unit.”
“You’re building quite a collection of homes around the world.”
“I don’t think two homes qualify as a collection,” Galahad said dryly. He set the table and then returned to the other side of the kitchen where hot chocolate was brewing on the stove.
“I heard that you’re considering a place in Santa Barbara as well.”
“News gets around. Do you know everything, Xin?”
She grinned. “I try.”
Galahad joined Xin at the table with two mugs of steaming hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and chocolate shavings and a plate heaped high with croissants. “When I got your message, I went down to the bakery to pick up the croissants. They’re fresh from the oven.”
Xin picked one up and bit into it. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. “Mmm. You can taste it too.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Xin had never felt a need to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation, and Galahad didn’t do social chatter either. Several minutes passed in companionable silence before Galahad asked, “What brings you here?”
